away, i'm bound away

right-o, exiting stage east to the midwest in t-minus 5-ish hours. blogging while i'm there, if at all, will be sporadic. but doubtless i'll be back with illustrated snark in just over a week. be well in the mean time all'y'all.

and they say it gets colder

dear blog: it seems one's
feelings blogged in haiku are
lame. I'm sad. Love, raej

worse things happen at sea, you know

it's been one of those days. my volunteer showed up on time, everyone's answering my emails, and i got a contract signed.

naturally i'm waiting for the other piano to drop.

but in the meantime, sunny sunny sunshine.

in other news:

amazon dropped by for a going away party the other day and said she had recently had a dream which featured me wandering around saying "but I am le tired."

and i wonder, does being sleepily awake in someone else's dream count as negative sleep?

don't tell me the lights are shining any place but there

at consecutive staff meetings last night, the gentle query arose: what exactly will i be up to while in The Loo?

so glad you asked:

~ bachelorette party
~ attending a cardinals game
~ visiting The Lake of The RedNecks
~ pre-birthday birthday dinner
~ karaoke
~ meeting a baby
~ wedding rehearsal/rehearsal dinner
~ pedicure/manicure
~ stage combat master class
~ that wedding thingie

i think that might be enough to keep even me occupied.

all i ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya

came across the following today in a cnn interactive thingie whilst looking for filibuster news. it's, well, i'm just awfully impressed, from a marketing/pr standpoint:

History
The filibuster, which is named after the Dutch world for pirate, dates back to the 1850s. The record for the longest individual filibuster -- 24 hours, 18 minutes -- is held by the late South Carolina Sen. Strom Thurmond, who was opposing the Civil Rights Act of 1957.

in less than 50 words, they manage to imply that a filibuster is
- unamerican
- criminal
- archaic
and (and this one's my favorite)
- conservative (but in this context that's a bad thing, see, because it's social conservatism to the tune of extreme racism. and because strom's dead, so they can disavow all knowledge of him and his minor involvement with the republican party. yeah.)

note: the blogger spellchecker? the one that doesn't recognize the words "blog" and "fuck" and always wants me to replace them with "bloc" and "Fuji," respectively? it does know that it wants to capitalize c-n-n. i feel unclean.

but if you try sometimes

beware ~ pillowed hair,
blankie clothed ~ the green eye troll
she'll steal your coffee

if i follow along does it mean i belong

I think actors as a class had it better when we were basically considered prostitutes; everyone is aware prostitutes are supposed to get paid.

i've said it before

convicted (but not sentenced) felons can't vote, but are allowed to get married.

gay couples can vote, but not get married.

what's wrong with this picture?

(if your answer to that is "the fact that gays can vote," you are a fascist dinosaur. please go away.)

summertime and your momma is easy

hey ref, call me when
the game is over. i don't
play well with others

the sun's in my heart and i'm ready for love
or
what looks really strange when it's put on a bear?

pants!

my jeans are very wet and cold from several forays out to the K-Land Agri-Mart.

NORMALLY i would have at least two (one in my car, one in my backpack or under my desk) alternative bottoms to put on, allowing me to pop my

soaking wet pants!

into The Job's drying machine.

but, of course, i've been cleaning stuff out lately, so

no pants!

i like walking in the rain. it's lovely. however, as one of my blissed-out dorm residents once observed

"it's great while you're doing it, but when you get inside, you're just wearing wet clothes."

so right now i am a cold wet pr manager bear who says grrr.

update: the tech skeksis was nice enough to loan me a length of unneeded stage black, after a fruitless search for abandoned pants in the lost and found and the tech lockers. (20 shirts, no pants.) (you don't think about it, but people really don't tend to leave their pants places. or leave places pantsless.)
anyway.
my jeans are drying and i am taking very small steps. oh, and being mocked, but that's par for the course in these here parts.

learn one thing every day that scares you

apparently, a lot of bodybuilders wear high-heeled shoes around the house to build up their calf muscles.

glug, glug, glug

quick birfday shout out to agent smith (know elsewhere simply as X): some odd number of years ago he wandered into the world, thereby rendering it sillier.

he has been kind enough to make some gift suggestions, ahem, making me darn glad i'd already sent something.

May your bedbugs be both happy and clean, Agent Smith. (clink, clink)

they put Annette there to catch their fall

so where exactly is the line between being contrary and filling perceived gaps in the social matrix? or is there one? and does it matter?

and why do i always hook up with introverts?

W and The Art of War, part two

new! title!

interestingly, i found a copy of this at a book store th'other day with really cool photos of various chinese wartifacts. sadly, since i already have my little barnes & noble classics edition, i couldn't bring myself to shell out the money.

anyway.

I.2. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected.

W and the good ol' boys again start off just fine here; "life and death" "making the world safe for our children," all over the monger rhetoric. but then, oh, hello, what's this? war can lead to ruin, you say? get out! no really, leave. go to fucking new zealand you godamn hippie.

The Art of "W"ar
possibly a recurring series.

until i get bored

1. The art of war is of vital importance to the state.

i have to say president monkey (no offense intended to any real or figurative monkeys of my acquaintance) and/or his handlers (depending on whether or not you subscribe to the "W as Republican Spokesmodel" Theory) seem to have a firm grasp of this general concept, both for use in rhetoric and in practical application.

once i thought my innocence was gone

i imagine it to be one of those moments which must occur in the life of any person who gets past a certain point. for me, that point was 9:02am yesterday. no, wait, my car clock is fast, um, (maths) so 8:56am Tuesday. I heard a song on the oldies station that had been written during my lifetime. It was Billy Joel's* Uptown Girl.

30 may be the new twenty, but apparently 28 is the new 45.

* blogger's spellchecker wanted to replace "Joel's" with "Joyless." hee.

where the skies are so blue

i must be tired; i've caught myself answering the phone in a light southern accent all day.

and i'm not even from the south. . .

just stare into space. . .

words only hold faith.
believe cherished moments' hands
and how they seize yours.

it's a song about a quail, no, it's a song about being happy
or
the funniest thing i'm likely to say all week

Neoamazon: "I just got off the phone with Tom Jones' agent."
Me: "I knew a costumer in St. Loo who grew up in the same city he did."
Neoamazon: "Cool for her."
Me: "Yeah, except she had come to loathe the very sound of his name."
Neoamazon: "Really?"
Me: "Enh, it's not unusual."
(Neoamazon and Hippie Accountant laugh)

won't it be odd to be happy like we've always thought we're s'posed to feel

~ minutes we spent laughing over the idea of placing a "Coffee Is For Closers" sign in the telefunders' room: 2.5

~ which is coincidentally the same number of seconds we expect to pass before one of them gets offended enough to storm out

~ number of days since nemesis's tags expired: 9

~ which is easily how many weeks have gone by since she started asking for an oil-change

~ number of philosophical distinctions i can find between getting a breast-enhancement and dying one's hair regularly: zero

confusion is nothing new

~ managed to injure myself with my car key this morning. nothing huge, but it did call for a band-aid and make me feel like a total spaz.

~ i might've mentioned my sister's impending Special Daaaaaay? yeah, well, is less than a month now, so i'll take all on-going commentary outside.

~ i vow a mighty vow. i will not see ep. 3 within the first week of its release. so there.

~ fuck barry bonds. more on this later.

~ they don't let people like me man radar stations. there are good, good reasons for this.

a muppet news flash

(and me a bit behind the times with my outraej here. sorrys.)

This is just wrong. Sick and stupid and wrong.

I mean, the hell? Ok, yes yes yes, little kiddies are much plumper in general these days than they were when i went to school.

however, to put too fine a point on it: sesame street has been on for, what? 35? 36? years now. that would be longer than my entire life, which would include my childhood. back then, there was no more than one (1) chubby child per class, which is why they were called The Fat Kid. this despite the nearly constant questing-for and consuming of cookies by the Cookie Monster.

now, i don't have children, so i may be way off base with how their little metabolisms function, but seems to me it makes no matter whether they be watching a Cookie Monster eating cookies or a Rice Cake Monster working out on a bowflex: there'll be no difference in how many calories they expend, 'cause they're still SITTING ON THEIR ASSES WATCHING TELEVISION ALL GOD DAMN DAY.

in a possibly related note: when i went hiking up a mini-mountain a few weeks ago, there were dozens of families in the park at the bottom, many grown-ups frolicking with dogs, and handfuls of children SITTING on picnic blankies and in lawnchairs PLAYING VIDEOGAMES.

but how can you know what you want 'til you get what you want and you see if you like it?
or
which broadway musical are you?
thanks to clipgirl for the the quizage


Put all the Faerie Tales you heard as a kid
together and what do you get? Into the Woods.
Each person has their own story and their own
quest but they somehow come together. You're
intelligent and wordy while still being clever.


What Broadway Musical Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

schroedinger's nap

Wake up early at seventeen past six because the cat is taking a bath on my stomach. This discomfits me a bit because I find it weird - and, let's be truthful, I'm also a little jealous - that cats can do this. So, I shoo him off, roll over and. . .it would be accurate here either to say I go back to sleep or to say I do not go back to sleep. I must have slept. It's not possible that I recline awake for 73 minutes without getting bored enough to read or get up. Yet. I feel as though I am awake the entire time. No disorienting fade into or out of consciousness. No dreams. No lucid out of body experience. 7:30 sharp, the alarm cd starts to spin. Before a note sounds, I flip over, slap the snooze, flop back into bed,...and immediately fall soundly asleep.

still got the rug burns on both my knees

strange but true: my first serious crush (5th grade) was on a guy named Zeke. really.

he was friendly to me right up until my crush became known (don't trust people you meet at summer camp; they and their big mouths wind up at your school) after which point he was a consistent ass until we dropped off each others' radar two years later.

ran into him in a pottery class our senior year. he appeared to be somewhat of a greasy loser.

mr.d: dodged that bullet, didn't you?
me: yeah, 'cause those fifth grade relationships tend to be so lasting.
mr.d: my 5th grade crush works at the new york times now.
me: speaking of dodging bullets. . .

dunbar loved shooting skeet because he hated shooting skeet so it made the time go slowly

that's a bit paraphrased. i'll go back and fix it later. maybe.

bored. boring boring bore bore boredy boredy bored.

the problem is spring. spring really isn't a problem. i love spring. i love many things about spring, particularly the way it suddenly creeps up on me that i can smell everything again. i love spring, but it makes me restless.

so, i'm here, it's spring and i'm restless. and bored. bored with everything i do, everything i say, and everything i'm thinking about.

yea, happy beltane!